


Promise Me Nothing

by YuuGiOKaeri



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst, Edited, Fluff, M/M, Thiefshipping, pmn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuuGiOKaeri/pseuds/YuuGiOKaeri
Summary: When Bakura moves into a Domino City flat with Marik Ishtar, he doesn't know what to expect.But what he gets is more than he ever thought possible.





	1. Marik

**Author's Note:**

> This is the heavily edited version of my first Thiefshipping fanfiction by this same title. Please enjoy. ^^

I pushed open the door to the flat, grinning triumphantly. Tossing Bakura a glance, I swept my arms apart. “Well?” I said, looking for his reaction. “Two-bedded, one bathroom. It’s perfect, right?”

“Sure.” Bakura surveyed the flat, moving my arm out of his face. “Where the hell’d you get the money, anyway?”

“Oh, fluffy, don’t worry about that. After all, this is our new HQ—HQ means ‘head-quarters.’”

“I know what head-quarters means, Marik.” Bakura scowled, shifting on his feet. “Why does it have to be a flat?” Dropping a suitcase on the floor behind me, he took a tentative step forward, suddenly recoiling as his nose scrunched up.

“To defeat the Pharaoh, of course!” I plopped onto the ratty couch, stretching pout my feet and kicking off my shoes. “Oh, you’ll get used to the cat piss smell. There’ll be more soon, so it’s fine.”

“Why will there be more?” Bakura asked, gagging and adjusting his collar before sitting beside me.

“Because you still have to mark everywhere.” I roughly patted his head, the white hair floofing happily around my fingers.

Bakura ducked away from my touch, pushing me away when I tried to come nearer. “I’m not a bloody cat, Marik, and I don’t see why I should stay here with you either. Ryou’s place works just fine for me.”

“But Bakura,” I whined, propelling myself into his lap, staring up at him and fluttering my eyelashes, “we need an HQ. Please? Pretty please?”

He bit the inside of his lip, pulling it in whilst his face tinged pink. “Why should I—“

“With a cherry on top?” I wrapped my arms around his leg, bouncing up and down.

Bakura sighed very slowly, looking away. He looked back, eyes glancing over mine before quickly moving away. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Yay!” I shot into a sitting pose, grabbing him into a tight hug, squeezing his host’s frail body. “I’ve already got a great plan, too!”

“Oh, joy,” Bakura mumbled, grimacing

 


	2. Bakura

Dead and live bugs littered the floor, hiding where you least expected them to pop out. The whole flat smelled like cat piss. The carpets were torn at the edges. The whole place was disgusting—and yet here I was, enticed by a “pretty please with a cherry on top.”

Also, to add onto the flat’s extensive list of faults, there was no mattress in my room. A bed frame, yes; an actual place to sleep, no. On Ryou’s meager earnings, there was no way in hell’d I’d be able to get another mattress.

I leaned against the doorway to the other room, arms crossed tight against my chest. Marik had just now turned on the furnace, seemingly unbothered by the mid-December chill that was bleeding in.

“Seriously, Marik,” I said, watching him put his things away, “how’re you paying for this?”

His deeply-tanned back was visible when he bent down, edge of the harsh carvings in his back peeking out. Then he straightened, whirling to face me. “Ishizu sent me money for my birthday. Now—“

“Enough money to put down for a flat? What did you really do, Marik? And you do know you have to pay rent every month, right?”

“Well then. . .” Marik hesitated, pushing his fingers to his chin. “How do you feel about getting a job?”

“Oh my Ra.” I pressed my alms over my eyes, sighing slowly. “How, precisely, did you pay the safety deposit and first month’s rent?”

At this, Marik burst into a wide grin, eyebrows arching before sliding downward. “The manager’s name is Steve, so we can live here for free!”

“They send bills that you have to pay—or they shut everything off and the manager can’t do a damn thing about it. Of all the difficult evil things to do properly, renting without paying is the hardest, behind killing the Pharaoh. And what would you’ve done if the manager’s name hadn’t been Steve? Go flat to flat, looking for a Steve?”

“This was actually the third block I had to go looking for a Steve,” Marik said, triumphant smile falling into more of a bashful frown. “But I’ll figure something out.” His soft expression only lasted a moment before springing into a smirk. “I always do.”

He stepped forward, taking my hands from where they’d fallen into clenched fists. “Now,” he said, yanking me to sit on his bed, “I’ll tell you all about my great plan!”

I exhaled, letting his touch give me shivers before he pulled away, leaping up and beginning to pace.

I glanced down at my hands, now free of Marik’s. This’d better be good.

 


	3. Marik

“I figured it out,” I said to Bakura, pacing and gesturing as I spoke. “Yami’s power comes from his leather shoes, yes?”

“Why not.” Bakura rolled his eyes, shifting his weight to his palms. “I thought we agreed not to go after those, since—you know.”

I pivoted on my heel to face him. “There were no rhyming Lady Gaga songs?”

“Yes. That is obviously exactly why.”

“Good to know we’re on the same page.” I went back to pacing, adjusting my arms to be more imposing as I walked. Crossing them was uncomfortable but leaving them to dangle was awkward and my arms got tired of waving at a certain point. Really, the perfect thing would be a domesticated feline tucked in one arm. “What if we just wait for him to walk straight to us? All we’d have to do was send an address and he’d come over.”

“Or send a bomb. The whole reason we’re here is because he sent a bomb to your last ‘secret’ hideout.”

“Oh.” I paused, slowly winding down. I sat down on my bed, leaning back. A moth circled frantically past me, spiraling upward toward the ceiling light. “I’ve got another idea, then, for how to pay for the flat.”

Bakura leaned in a little closer, scooting up on the sloping mattress. “How?”

“Ryou had a Summer job and sometimes does weekend work. He has money.”

“Not that much. It won’t last long, probably only two months. Maybe less.”

Once more, I stood, looking to the window. “Then we’ll take it as far as it goes, until we get evicted. After that, we’ll go back to Egypt and build a new HQ.”

From behind me, I heard springs creaking as Bakura also stood. “How about a secret arse?” A slight snicker hid behind his words, which were mock-serious.

“We’re not talking about that,” I said, turning up my nose. Or at least trying. I wasn’t exactly sure how you could turn up your nose, but this felt pretty close.

I turned slightly, a glint of gold catching my eye. Fully whipping around, I dove toward the bed, scooping up my Rod and waving it at Bakura. “Now go make my dinner, slave!”

“I have a better idea,” he said, catching the Rod mid-air. His eyes were narrowed down, lips twisted up into a slight smirk that allowed a glimpse of one of his sharp canines. It was the look of a predator.

 


	4. Bakura

“What’s the idea?” Marik said, jerking the Millennium item away, dealing a swift, yet light, blow to my midsection.

“The kebab place that we liked in Egypt opened a location a few blocks away.”

“So what?”

“So brainwash a few Steves to give you their money.” I caught the golden artifact, which Marik was wielding aggressively.  Pulling it from his grip, I tucked into a belt loop in the back of my trousers.

He spun around to plop into bed. “I guess we could do that. I mean, there’s no pizzazz, but y’know. You came up with it. When we get our first bills, we’ll do that.”

I sat back down beside him, casting furtive glances to his midsection, which was more exposed than usual, due to his stretching out. He flexed his wrists, body twisting in a long stretch before he rolled onto his stomach. “Winter is never as cold in Egypt,” he said, musingly.

“Ah, yea, but Domino City’s pretty far from Egypt.”

“Mn.” Marik reached for his Millennium Rod, nearly getting it back. I moved away, shifting to hold it over his head. “Gimme, Florence.”

“Nope.” I flicked his forehead, continuing to hold it out of his reach as he continued to go after it. Marik coiled, and then sprang at me. I stood, moving effectively past him.

“Please? I won’t hit you anymore, I promise.” Marik’s fingers grazed my wrists as he attempted to reclaim his rod.

I carried it away, ignoring my new flatmate’s pleas. He launched at my legs with some kind of animalistic shriek, sitting on my foot and wrapping his arms and legs around my own leg.

“Bakoooora,” he whined, leaning his head on my leg.

I limped into my room, whacking Marik on the head with his rod as we went. Once I reached the doorway, I shook my leg violently, pushing his head back with the top of the rod, eventually just dropping it into his lap. “Here, now leave me alone.”

“Thank you, Bakura!” He took it, climbing off me. For the briefest of moments, we were standing close together, Marik clutching the rod to his chest, me with my hand on the doorknob.

But after that one second, his violet eyes suddenly widened, face brightening before he scuffled away hurriedly.

I shook my head and shut my door, wondering who dropped him when he was a baby.

 


	5. Marik

I dug through my closet, feverishly searching for the package I’d ordered. Originally, it’d been meant to give Bakura if he didn’t want to stay with me. But since he didn’t need to be bribed, it could be used as a home-warming gift.

Once I’d gotten my hands on the box, I lifted it over my head, trotting out of my room. “’Kura! I have something for you!”

“I told you to leave me alone.” Bakura’s voice carried from his room, all emo and sullen.

“I’ll just leave it by your door.” I set down my offering, backing away with satisfaction.

Outside, dark was closing around the city, slowly circling down and activating streetlamps, the residential-area traffic lights preparing to go on blink mode. I opened a window, sticking my face against the screen and breathing in the giddy excitement of night-time air, charged with a kind of unusual buzz. A siren’s shrill wail spiraled up and around, then receded from my hearing.

My chest hurt, My heart was aching in the best way, like yearning, but at the same time, fulfillment.  This was Domino City, where hopes and dreams were found and lost. Egypt was different—blazingly warm, dull and stifling. There was so much in this world I’d never known from my sparse studying in the tomb.

Water touched over my face, softly falling from the sky. A new thrill jolted through me as I realized that it was obviously raining. Below ground, I’d heard rain overhead. Ishizu had only been able to explain it then; now I was seeing and feeling it myself.

With the sound of Bakura’s door opening, I looked to him, smiling. “It’s raining out there,” I said.

“So? It rains often enough.” Bakura crouched by the box I’d set by his door, peeling back industrial-strength tape.

“I never got to see it when I was a kid,” I replied, turning my face back against the screen. “It’s amazing—water coming out of the sky.”

“Oh.” Bakura’s voice softened, the sound of ripping tape halting. Soon, I heard muted, bare-foot-on-carpet steps, before feeling his hand come to rest on the exposed area of my back. His touch slid up slowly, tracing beside the edges of the scars carved into my being.

I flinched from his hand, drawing away from the rain to dodge the memory of pain instilled within the markings. Bakura caught me by the arm, brown eyes holding steady on me, face set in a less malevolent look than usual. My heart pinched, blood rising to my cheeks.

“Have you opened the box?” I asked, holding still in his gaze, yet not meeting it. “It’s a house-warming present.”

“What is it?” He let go, my heart unclenching as he headed back to the box.

“It’s a surprise.” I grinned, bouncing on the balls of my feet and pulling my lower lip back with my teeth.

“Great.” Bakura opened the flaps, shut them and shot me a glare. “Marik?”

“Yes, Fluffy?”

“Why the hell is there a cat play-pen in here?”

I was already backing away. “Because you’re my kitty-cat, Bakura,” I said, holding back a fit of giggles. “Nya!”

On the final word, my laughter burst out, not able to be held back any longer. Bakura was silent, merely rolling his eyes and retreating back to his room.

When I recovered, I went back to the window, a smile stretching my mouth up my face. The slowly quickening droplets of water sobered me, just barely brushing my skin. I let my body relax into the pleasurable taste of a city’s night-time rain.

 


	6. Bakura

“Fluuuuuuuuuuuuuffy!” Marik’s voice cut a shrill, resounding break through the haze of music from Ryou’s iPod. He only had crappy music, of course—it wasn’t like I enjoyed it. I pulled out one of the black ear-buds, listening again.

“Bakura!” Another shout and I was scrambling out, to see if Marik had hurt himself, the iPod left on the floor in my wake. I followed his voice, a short way to the kitchen, where he was on the floor, legs splayed, head thrown back, calling for me still.

“Are you okay?” I dropped next to him, checking for burns, cuts or bruises with my hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Frig Bakura, don’t touch me.” He shoved my hands off before pointing to a row of cabinets, interrupted by a gaping hole. “There’s no oven! We can’t eat anything!”

“For Ra’s sake, Marik! Don’t scream about something like that; look, there’s a microwave.” I stood up with a short exhale, pointing out the appliance. Per usual, he was over-reacting without taking adequate measure of his surroundings.

“Oh. Oops.” Marik pulled his body into a cross-legged position, blowing hair out of his lavender eyes.

“And I know you always have those microwaveable meal things lying about, so there’s plenty to eat.” I patted his head, his hair rubbing between my fingers. MY heart was still pounding too hard for me to really be upset. “When do you use the oven for cooking anyway?”

“Um.” Marik tilted his head, causing my hand to slip over his ear. I jerked away quickly. “Well, there was this one time—no, wait, that was Ishizu. There was. . .” He said nothing after that.

“Marik,” I said helping him stand, “you go play something, or do whatever and I’ll make you something to eat. How about that?”

“Sure, Bakura.” He smiled, looking around, fingers still delicately hooked into my own from where we’d grabbed onto each other as I helped him up. “You know, once we really make it feel like home, this place’ll be perfect.”

“If I survive that long,”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

 


	7. Marik

I typed the game name into the computer’s search engine. The uneven buzz of the microwave in the background added to the experience of the incredibly pointless game I was playing. As I experienced the experience of experiencing a game, I muttered to myself, pointing out the flaws as I went.

“Which are you playing?” Bakura asked, leaning on the back of the couch to watch my screen.

“Slenderman.” Walking. More walking. Canoelessness. Brief words and sentences stuck, moving through my mind before being replaced with new ones.

The microwave timer suddenly shrieked, causing me to jump, my perfect concentration breaking. “Bakura!” I twisted to face him, smacking my lips together loudly. “Hungry!”

“I know, Caveman, I know,” he said, heading into the kitchen. I bounced on the couch as I waited.

I considered shutting my laptop to eat, but the sheer monotonous nature of the game drew me in.

“It says it has to cool two minutes before you can eat it.” Bakura joined me, the microwave’s hum resuming as his food cooked. I yawned, letting that be my reply.

The two minutes dragged on, but at exactly 120 seconds after the timer had rang, I slammed the computer shut and dashed to my hot pocket. Bakura trailed silently behind, watching me devour the meat-dough-roll-up-thing.

“Oh yea, since you don’t have a mattress,” I said, wiping my hands on the sides of my trousers, “You’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Bakura said, crossing his arms.

“Then where’re you sleeping? ‘Cause I’m sleeping on my mattress that I brought.”

“It’s plenty big enough for two people, for a few nights. Better than that putrid, cat-piss couch, at any rate. Later, we can bring Ryou’s mattress over.”

“But I don’t wanna sleep with you,” I whined, tossing my plate into the sink.

“It’s quite unfortunate.” Bakura gave me a sleazy smile, face becoming distorted from this. “Sacrifices must be made, though.”

“What is that—an ancient British proverb?” I asked, rubbing at my eyes with another yawn, this one longer and more pronounced as I rubbed my eyes.

“It’s just common sense.”

“Okay.” I doubted that, but decided to take his word for it, at least for the time being. I was too tired to argue against him, anyway.

Bakura advanced toward me, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, time for bed.”

“But I’m not shweepy.”

“Yes, you are. Let’s go.” He grabbed me more tightly before I could get away, dragging me by the arm back to my room, in order to shove me into bed.

“’Kura,” I complained, settling into the warm blankets. “I need to take off my make-up.”

“Stay here,” he said, leaving the room. I snuggled under the covers while waiting, looking up when Bakura came back in, my pack of make-up removers in one hand. “Sit still.”

He sat beside me, grim as he removed one of the cloths. Reaching forward, he scowled as he patted gingerly at my face, pathetically trying to wipe away the make-up.

“Don’t forget the eyeliner,” I said, closing my eyes to let him take it off. “And press harder, Bakura; it won’t come out unless you do.”

“I know.” The cloth pressed deeper then, as Bakura took his time to swab my whole face clean. When he was done, I settled myself down, pulling off my top-layer crop-top, leaving the black undershirt. The bed creaked as Bakura also laid down, tossing the packet of clean wipes on the floor.

“Night, Florence,” I said, hesitating before adding, “thanks.”

“Mmn,” he hummed brusquely as I let my conscious drift away, carried by the the sound of my heart still beating hard from his touch.

 


	8. Bakura

“Night, Florence,” Marik said, tucking his arm under his pillow. “Thanks.”

I gave a vague noise from my throat, looking to the clock on the bedside table. It was only 9.30.

Propping myself up on one elbow, I reached to turn out the lamp lighting the small room. Even if I wasn’t tired, I’d lie with Marik till I fell asleep.

It wasn’t long before Marik’s breaths deepened, body untensing, causing the bed to creak. At that point my eyes had adjusted to the dark, allowing me to see the silhouette of his bare shoulders rising and falling in synchronisation with his breathing, catching sharply every few minutes. Cautiously, I reached out, gently touching the warm skin of his cheek. Marik didn’t react.

He bore no resemblance to perfection, yet there was something invisible that enchanted me with him. It was a lustful emotion, I knew, born out of first impressions and repeated midriff-exposure. I wanted to kiss him, hold him, have him. While he slept, however, soft, chaste touches were all I could satisfy myself with. Even when he was awake, I didn’t quite dare to go forward with such desires.

I ran one hand down his arm, over the golden bands he constantly wore. Now that I thought of it, his earrings and collar were also gold. He had a gold obsession, didn’t he?

A sudden movement caused my heart to jump, freezing as Marik rolled onto his back. He still seemed asleep, though. I crept in closer, lying down as close as I could without yet touching him. Waiting a beat, I pulled my head up, placing it gently on the other’s shoulder. He laid still through that, breaths not stirring. Without a response, I nestled up against him, tucking the top of my head under his chin. I’d moved here in my sleep, I decided.

Relaxing, I let myself feel sleep fall over me, enveloped by Marik’s soft aroma.

 


	9. Marik

I woke up, folded into Bakura’s pale arms, with his face pressed into the soft area of my neck. His lips were softly moving against my throat, meaningless garble close to words. I shivered, noticing he’d thrown off the duvet.

On any other morning, I would’ve thrown Bakura off, but this morning, I didn’t. There was something about seeing him in this light, each subtle crevice of his skin illuminated, that made me pause.

I couldn’t stare at him forever, though.

With subdued movements, I extracted my shoulder from under his head, rolling out of his arms. Out of his grasp, I stood up, heading into the kitchen, making sure I stepped quietly.

I dug through the mostly-empty fridge till I found the eggs, balancing two in one hand, swinging my hip against the refrigerator door to close it. The fragile eggs in hand, I got out a bowl, before cracking the eggshells and depositing the contents into a bowl, then stirring them together. The mixed eggs were put into the microwave and left to cook, while I prepared myself a cup of coffee.

The timer went off, letting me know the eggs were done. The clear liquid had turned fully opaque, in yellow-white swirls. I jabbed a fork, tines down, into the cooked eggs.

Bakura came in, stumbling and muttering. On one side of his head, the hair was matted and tangled close to his skull, while on the other side, it was puffy and messy. However, on both sides, his “kitty ears” were sticking straight out.

I shuffled the eggs and my coffee, offering the former to Bakura. “Here.”

The dark spirit of the Millennium Ring made a weird noise, which I took to mean, “thank you, oh smexy lord of benevolent sexy appeal.” He then lurched to the table, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

Finishing my cup of coffee, I placed the empty mug into the sink, next pulling out a bowl and breakfast cereal. I poured the cereal into the bowl, stopping when it was nearly overflowing, then splashing milk in, sending sugar-coated pieces flying over the counter. I went to the table, flourishing a spoon out. Bakura and I enjoyed our breakfasts together in silence, though he less enjoyed, and more sullenly glared.

I finished my bowl, glancing up. Tantalisingly bouncing along with his chewing were Bakura’s two poofs of hair. They looked so fluffy this morning, more so than usual.

Starting to stand, I slowly reached out to Bakura’s head. He shot me a wordless warning with his eyes, which I ignored.

In a short instant, my hand made contact with one of the sections of sticky-up hair. It was only for a moment, my hand tingling in the sensation of contact.

I jerked away my hand, biting down a smile. “I’m going to shower,” I said, backing out quickly. There was death in Bakura’s expression—which mean now was a good time to run.

Scampering toward the washroom, my hand still felt the softness from the forbidden touch.

 


	10. Bakura

I had only just finished eating when a timid voice broke through my early-morning haze. “It’s a school day,” the voice pointed out astutely.

“So?” I glanced over my shoulder at my host’s diaphanous body.

“So I need to go to school, which means I need my body—just till school’s over. Then you can have it back.”

I dropped my bowl into the sink, listening to the shower water start. “We’re not going to your damn school.”

“But—” Ryou started forward, eyes catching mine harshly.

“I said no.” I turned, fully facing him. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

The boy backed off quickly, though his chin jabbed a little higher into the air, expression pinching into borderline defiance. “I heard you,” he said, voice quiet, yet tense.

“Good.” I shook my head, moving toward my bedroom. I could deal with the host later, when it wasn’t so early. As I walked, Ryou followed me, trailing at a respectful distance.

Finally, his voice rose out, asking a question I’d been shutting out—“Why are we here?”

“That’s none of your business.” I shut the bedroom door, leaving the host on the other side. Only a moment later, he came through the wood, having no flesh to be held back.

“And why is Marik Ishtar here—”

“Shut up!” I gripped the Millennium Ring, beginning to force his pesky soul back down. “At any time I wish, I can dispose of your soul and erase every trace of it from this body, remember? I told you it was none of your business, so if you like your soul, I’d suggest pissing off, host.”

Bakura Ryou was fading back into the Ring quickly, but not so quickly that he wasn’t able to stare straight at me, face blank, saying, “But you need me, at least as a disguise. You can’t kill me.”

Then, at last, he was gone, leaving me grasping the Ring, knuckles dyed white from strain. Once I defeated the Pharaoh, I would be able to leave this vessel behind, passing into the glory of a king’s afterlife.

Strings of a song’s lyrics, mangled beyond recognition blended with the running shower water. It was a voice that direly needed to be put out of it’s misery.

When, or if, I really passed into the afterlife, I would be leaving more than this body behind—and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.

 


	11. Marik

I pulled my shirt down over my head, studying myself fin the mirror after the fabric had fallen attractively over my torso. I tapped my thumbs gently over the scars under my eyes. Even if I could cover my back, my face whispered with a reminder of the Ishtars’ duty and destiny.

Leaving the washroom, plumes of decadent steam spiralled into the rest of the flat, a grave marker for the hot water. I sat down on the couch, fishing my mobile from between the cushions. My Rod sat on the side table, Horus’ eye gazing blankly over the flat. I turned it away from me.

“Marik?” Bakura lingered at the wall, a vague discomfort permeating his features and posture.

“What’s up, Bakura?” I bounced on the cushion a little, stopping when a spider fled from under the couch.

Ease settled over the male, spreading into his sauntering gait, which carried him to sit beside me. “Ryou wants to go to school.”

“He wants to? School sucks.” I’d had school in the tomb; of course, it’d been different than normal schooling. I only studied a few hours a day, with scrolls by candlelight. I had learned of kings who’d conquered, of the pharaohs who’d succumbed to weakness, of rising and falling legions. . .

“I know.” Bakura snorted, settling close beside m,e, chin resting upon my shoulder to peer at my mobile.

“Frig school!” I launched my Brit-free right arm into the air. “We’re going to go do something fun and rebellious instead!”

“Like what precisely? We could hijack cars or steal candy from babies.”

“Or get fro-yo and kebabs and make fun of people behind their backs! Brilliant, clever and we’ll never be caught!” I typed the best damn fro-yo place in Domino City, clicking the first result which appeared.

“Froyo’s Bail Bonds?” Bakura read from the site. “Why frozen yogurt and not real ice cream, anyway?”

“Fro-yo’s good for you, silly.” I rolled my eyes, going back to the search. “Here’s an actual helpful website, see? They don’t open till ten-thirty though.”

“That’s in an hour,” he said, arm loosely dropping over my shoulder. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” I said, grinning at him. “I promise.”

 


	12. Bakura

I spent the next half-hour poking around the flat, acquainting myself with the place. We’d certainly have to invest some time in cleaning things up soon. At 10.15, I stuck my head into Marik’s room, rapping my knuckles against the doorframe. “Marik?”

“Yea?” He looked up from his mobile, hair falling to one side, sticking to his cheeks. A lump stuck in my throat.

“It’s a quarter past ten now. What time are we leaving?”

“What—oh yea!” Marik’s phone dropped out of his hands, mouth gaping overdramatically. “We need to leave right now.”

“It’s open till five, Marik; there’s no reason to hurry.” I trailed him as he quickly grabbed his keys and put his shoes on, grabbing his motorbike helmet whilst jabbing his Rod into a belt loop.

“Shush, Bakura. Here.” Marik tossed me the spare helmet, which I managed not to drop.

I shook my head, following Marik out the door. “Like I said, no need to hurry at all. We can just follow the speeding limit, like normal human beings.”

“But what if they run out of fro-yo? What then?” Marik whisked around, to walk backward, shoving open the door, breezes rushing into to pull his hair around. Walking nackward caused him to nearly trip over the doorstop. “Meant to do that,” he muttered, though went to walking normally, leading me to his bike.

We sat together on the bike, me crammed cosily behind my flatmate as he struggled to start it up. It took two kicks, four “friggin’ start!”s and one barely human growl, but the bike finally started and we were on our way toward the heart of the city.

I clung to Marik, burying my face in his back as the wind hissed through my clothing and hair, as if trying to pull me apart. In honesty, I couldn’t say I cared for frozen yogurt, or going on a motorbike ride. But our bodies touching like this, feeling his heartbeat under my hands—this was why I was here.

Over thirty minutes later, the bike slid into a parking space, leaving marks on the asphalt. Clutching Marik’s midsection, my teeth grit, wondering if we could have possibly chosen a closer frozen yogurt place. Marik pulled out his mobile, one leg propping up the bike. A little noise of disappointment followed his checking the time. I looked over his shoulder, seeing the clock displaying 10.57

“How’s that possible?” Marik said, pocketing his phone with a huff. “I went 95 kilometres the whole way.”

“Trust me, I know,” I said, my stomach flipping over. I chanced a light hug by deepening my grip on his torso, pulling our bodies even closer together.

Leaning his head back, Marik let his head rest atop mine. “There’s no point going in now. It won’t be fresh fro-yo anymore. Health food is best fresh, you know.”

“Health food. Yes, certainly.” I was positive no one but Marik would call frozen, sugar-crusted, whipped cream- and fudge-covered yogurt a health food. “Since we’re already out, do you want to go get those kebabs?”

“Yea, that sounds good.” Marik straightened, kicking up his foot, starting the motorbike. “To Kebabs!”

This drive was shorter, less than ten minutes lost to sharp winds and my skin against his. We were going too fast for city driving, but Marik could handle his bike deftly past the dangers caused by his own speed.

By a shot of luck, we discovered that this Kebabs’ employees were all named Steve, just as in their Egyptian counterpart, which allowed Marik to control them with his Rod.

When we walked out, Marik had two kebabs sticking out of his mouth, three more in his right hand, Millennium Rod in his left. He grinned at me, shifting the sticks form his mouth to his hand. “Where to next, ‘Kura?”

“Well—”

“Oh, I need new socks,” he said, glancing at his feet menacingly. “We can go to that new clothes store; I bet they’ll have fancy socks.”

”Fancy socks? The bloody hell do you need ‘fancy socks’ for?”

“To make people jealous, of course! How many people do you know that have fancy socks?”

“While we’re there,” I said, shaking away the thought of glittery, sparkling socks, ”we’ll get some real clothes.”

“Yea, your clothes are pretty dated.” Marik pulled a piece of grilled pineapple off his kebab stick using his teeth.

“No, for you.”

“Oh.” The Egyptian paused mid-chew, looking slightly sick all of a sudden.

 


	13. Marik

“There is nothing wrong with what I wear,” I said, as I was forcefully dragged along behind Bakura, who was pulling me through the clothing store.

“Right.” Bakura stopped, glancing back at me. “Do you have your Rod?”

“Always!” I reached for my belt loop and felt nothing. “Never mind. It’s in the motorbike cubbyhole.”

“Well, if we’re to pay for anything, you’ll have to go get it.” His grip tightened on my wrist, a twisting chill running up to my shoulder. “Let’s just hope there’s a Steve at the counter.”

I stumbled after him, trying to telepathically make him detour to the snack section. We passed by that aisle without even slowing. I sighed.

Then suddenly, Bakura stopped as I kept walking, me smacking into his back.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to shelves and racks lining the walls. “Normal clothes.”

“If ‘normal’ is what you wear, I’d rather be weird,” I muttered, picking at a generic shirt. In an audible voice, I said, “I’m not gonna wear any of this. It’s all ugly,” I whined the last word, draping myself over Bakura. “Let’s just go get snacks.”

“You’re not wearing this, either.” Bakura grabbed a fistful of my crop top, pulling me off of him.

“Guess I’ll just be naked, then.” I perked, grabbing the hem of my shirt.

Bakura smacked my hand, other hand grabbing me by the hair and yanking me to the offending clothing. “You’re going to pick out some clothes while I go get your Rod. Stay here.” He backed away, gaze holding steady over me before he turned, walking out the way we’d come.

I poked through the clothes, gagging over the selection. Not a crop top or sexy item to be found. After a few minutes, I began piling clothes on my arm, with each new addition apologising to my current apparel. Once Bakura returned, my stack was apparently satisfactory, since he didn’t nag at me.

“C’mon,” he said, trading me clothes for Millennium Rod.

After some asking, pleading and begging, there turned out to be an employee named Steve. We paid (mind-controlled the Steve to pay), then left the store, Bakura carrying the bag.

I pushed my rod into the bag, before freezing. “My fancy socks!” I turned, preparing to bolt back in.

Bakura reached out, hand falling to take my own, pulling me gently back. “It’ll be fine. Come back later; they’ll have socks still. Let’s just go home.” He was scowling, tips of his ears red.

I looked at the store, then Bakura, then the store again. “Alright,” I said, sighing and plodding after him. Our fingers were tangled where he hadn’t let go yet. It felt a little bit nice, having something to warm me in the cold air, my heart having sped up when he touched me.

Cautiously, I scotched closer, before squeezing his hand. Bakura’s step faltered briefly, eyes pointing straight ahead. I let him regain his footing before I leaned our arms together, nestling my head against his shoulder.

I could hear his breathing quicken, puffs of visible air appearing more frequently out of his mouth. We were close enough to the motorbike now, so I let go, untwining from Bakura and going to the bike. Even being apart from him now, his warmth and outline on my skin lingered.

I smiled, whisking hair out of my face. That had been really nice, actually. Maybe, if it was ever cold again, we could do that again.

 


	14. Bakura

Marik never complained about being cold, he never shivered and in whole, seemed unbothered by late December, edging into Christmas, despite his scanty attire. These new clothes would help warm him (even if he didn’t seem affected) and hide his skin from just anyone passing by.

At home, Marik headed straight for the ratty couch, stretching himself out over it. “I’m taking a nap,” he said, hand flapping imperially.

“Alright, Marik-sama.” I lugged the clothing bag to his room, which was somehow already a mess.

I kicked things out of the way, nudging his old clothes into a pile. Most of them were exact mirrors of what he was currently wearing. He had other clothes, of course, but he obviously didn’t like them as much.

Snatching a limp, purple piece of clothing off the floor, I tossed it between my hands, contemplating, before grabbing two more shirts just like the first—his only three crop tops, excluding the one he was currently wearing. These would be disposed of, forcing Marik to wear his new clothes.

For the moment though, I just stashed the shirts in my own closet. This done, and oart of Marik’s room cleaned up, I looked into the living room.

Marik’s body was cramped into a ball, curled tight around himself due to the couch’s size. He was still growing, though, not yet being eighteen. My own body back in Egypt hadn’t even reached his current height, though I’d been full-grown.

It was strange, looking so passively back at my past. Usually there were emotions with each memory. Right now, I was just tired out from being with Marik.

I came forward, stooping over the couch to gather the Egyptian into my arms. He was lighter than I expected, only fifty-five or so kilos, I guessed.

His body curled into me, lavender eyes stretching open and focusing on me. “Fluffy,” was all he said before closing his eyes again, expression peaceful. A smirk from a smothered grin coiled around my lips. I brought him to his room, placing him in bed.

“Goodnight, Marik,” I said, letting my hand rest over his forehead a moment.

Barely, I was beginning to think, this was possibly more than just a lusting desire. It was fiercer than that, less sexual than it had been.

In the end, what did it matter, as long as this pleasure never faded?

 


	15. Marik

I woke up at four-thirty, tucked carefully into my sheets. Vaguely, I remembered Bakura’s arms cosied around me, a slow and gentle motion, and his touch on my forehead.

Now I was alone, head fuzzy and light from my nap. I sat up, the duvet settling on my lap before I kicked it off, rolling out of bed. The flat was quiet, but that made sense—I was the one who made most of the noise.

It was odd Bakura and I got along as well as we did, separate as our thought processes were. Yet he tolerated me and I clung to him as well as I could, since he was the only one who’d stood by me without mind control.

There had to be something more behind us, though. After all, why should he stay?

There has to be something. I brewed myself a cup of coffee, staring out the window silently. What was the adhesive measure that could bind us? Besides duct tape, of course.

“Are you making coffee? Marik, do you know what time it is?” Bakura’s voice cut in behind me—close behind me.

“It’s almost 4.40.” He was hovering in my personal bubble, words right behind my ear. I didn’t move to face him, the awkward sound of him scuffling closer was next, my heart going to my throat. “I’ve had a brilliant new idea just now, by the way.”

I felt his fingers hover at my wrist, not yet touching, chilling my heart. Then he backed way up, voice clearing loudly. “Alright, so what precisely does it involve?”

“Leather shoes, the pharaoh’s leather shoes, more specifically.” Now, I turned, back leaning on the counter to watch Bakura’s expressions.

“Oh, Ra.” His eyes squeezed tight, lips pinching. “No. We’ve done this before and we’re not doing it again.”

“You’re always so tense, Florence.” I grinned, taking a sip from my coffee. There was a bond that held us closer than should’ve been possible and, though I couldn’t explain why, being with Bakura made me happy beyond anything else.

And for now, I was content knowing that much.

 


End file.
